Step Outside These Walls
by MD14
Summary: I wrote this a very long time ago and am publishing it here for the first time. This short one-shot features a young (rookie) Sam and Andy meeting at an Al Anon family group meeting.


Stopping on the empty sidewalk when he had reached his destination, Sam pulled the collar of his zipped jacket up against chin and breathed out a slow and shaky breath. His eyebrows drawn in tight, eyes squinted with reservation.

He stared at the stone building before him. Perhaps the only beautiful thing in this otherwise run down part of the city. The way it exuded solitude and faith all at once both put him off and drew him in, and it took him a moment to decide that he was going to go through with this. He had to at least go inside.

He took a beat before walking up the front steps of the church with a laugh of irony rumbling in his chest. He doesn't think he's been inside one since Christmas Eve when he was five years old. Well over ten years ago, thirteen to be exact.

But sometimes you've got to do what you've got to do. And for Sam, at this time, he needed to _do_ something to show Charlie he was serious about turning things around. Cause, he guesses, a kid who was used to selling stolen car parts might not do so hot at the first test of temptation.

("Copper's gotta have a good head on his shoulders, Sammy. You can't let all the crap from your past get in the way of that. I dunno, kid. Sometimes talking helps. Sometimes listening does too.")

He has to put quite a bit of force into opening one of the double doors, leaning back on almost all his weight while pulling the handle. Once there's a wide enough gap, he slips inside, putting a hand out behind him to let it shut slowly, quietly.

The entry way is quiet save for the voices down the hall, behind the doors of the meeting room. The quiet, non-threatening din has Sam nervous now. Now that he's inside, and going to have to talk...

This was a really bad idea. In a church of all places, _Christ-_

He's going to have to watch that, he thinks. That won't be easy.

A man comes out of the door across the entry way and makes polite eye contact with Sam, offering a welcoming grin before he disappears into a nearby bathroom.

These people don't know him. He'll never have to see them again. Hell, he doesn't even have to say anything. Just listen. He doesn't owe anyone anything, and this is for him. For his future.

So he puts his hands in his jacket pockets, puts his head down and starts walking forward.

Once he's inside he notices the room is just about as depressing as he'd imagined it'd be. Chairs all configured in a circle, a sad table for coffee and tea, someone's homemade brownies. Lumpy, homemade brownies.

He stretches his fingers within his jacket pockets and heads for the table, catching an opening at the coffee pot. Takes one Styrofoam cup and fills it three quarters of the way, leaving the rest of the space for milk.

He's more comfortable now that he has something to hold, something to seem invested in. He takes one sip before realizing it tastes like ass. But now he's committed to it. He's going to drink the whole cup.

The hushed conversations of the room carry on as the door opens and the man from the hallway returns. People slowly make their way to the circle of chairs and Sam figures this is the counsellor, or whatever he's called. Discussion leader?

Sam was regretting coming in the door at least ten different ways. But he sat down in a chair anyway. One that seemed a little further back than the others.

He watched people slip off their coats, and even though he was warming up inside he thought it best not to get comfortable.

It seemed as though things were about to get started as the man stood slowly, clapping his hands just once to politely demand the attention from those among him. And then Sam raised his eyes from his shoes to the person sitting opposite him.

He saw two big brown eyes staring back. Incredibly young, and round, almost hazel eyes looking right back at him. It was the first time he felt noticed since coming in.

And it made his skin crawl, almost.

She looked younger than him, dressed in a baseball tee, jeans and Chucks. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and it was a rich brown, with highlights running throughout, but not the kind from a bottle. The kind you get from staying outside every day in summer, though summer was long gone.

Her face seemed open. Like, an easy read, to him. She seemed a little embarrassed that he caught her looking, but she didn't turn away, she just, let him look.

She had a jaw line that might make her look older, if only her skin didn't look so soft and new.

 _She_ looked new.

But then the woman next to her leaned over to whisper something in her ear, and the girl looked down at the brownie the woman was holding and smiled proudly, thanking her for whatever she said.

Maybe not new here though. She seemed to know a thing or two. Enough to know to bake brownies for the group.

Sam thinks he'll grab one for the walk home after.

The man (Cory, Sam thinks he may have just heard), is talking now, about progress and open lines of communication but Sam keeps studying the girl across from him. She looks... normal.

Suburban, if he wants to get specific.

Not like she belongs in a support group. But then, looking at everyone else, he supposes none of them _look_ like they're _supposed_ to be there. It's not a place a certain person strives to be. And maybe that's kind of the point. Anyone can suffer from a loved one's addiction. Or not so loved... That's maybe what the group is about.

These are just ordinary people off the street who have husbands or wives, or children, parents... people who are struggling to understand, to learn how to get by.

But it doesn't make him want to share anymore than he already did. It doesn't make him want to reveal that his dad's ideas of appropriate punishment varied greatly when he was drinking. Which was basically any time he was out of prison.

He doesn't have or want to disclose any of that.

Though, he is curious about the girl sitting across from him. What has her here when she should be at home, working on her homework or gossiping on the phone with her friends? Who has her up late at night, worrying or frightened?

Does he have a right to wonder about her, when he doesn't want anyone wondering about him?

"Remember guys. This is a safe place. We're here to listen and reflect, not to judge. Is there anyone with anything new to share?" Cory asks, somewhat hopefully.

Sam's eyes flit around the room as he sees a couple of hands go up, but he eventually brings them back to Brown Eyes, who's hand is still going up, painfully slowly, like she's fighting it.

"Andy, good to have you back. Go ahead." He smiles, gesturing to her.

She tries to smile too, small and uncomfortable.

She's brave, he'll give her that.

She's hunched over on the cheap metal fold up. Hands bracing it on either side of her thighs as she stares at her knees.

One deep breath and she pushes back, acknowledging the rest of them, and settling into the space.

"Hi. I'm uh, Andy." She breathes, kind of rolling her eyes, the way Sam would, and he chuckles a little. But he's not the only one. "Um, my dad has been working a lot lately, which isn't really different. But he seems better right now. It's been a while since he came home drunk. And I think maybe he's starting to understand how hard it is for me, when he's drinking."

Sam is leaning forward, elbows on his knees, cup still in his hands and he keeps turning it out of habit.

"He says he's just working through some hard stuff. And I know that. I just wish he could talk to me about that stuff. It's just us and I want to help. I want to understand why he needs that stuff, I guess."

She stays quiet for a minute, and Sam thinks she might continue, but she looks to Cory, as if asking 'what now?'.

Sam looks to him too, wondering what kind of cure-all he thinks he can offer these people. What magical phrase will come from his mouth that will make her dad's drinking stop. To make his. Cause he's pretty positive there isn't one.

All the same, he unzips his jacket and leans back in his chair.

He stays the full two hours. Listening as one man talks about his sons dangerous flirtation with a heavy drug lifestyle, and how he'd do anything for his son to see he's better than all that. Listening to a woman talk about her emotionally abusive husband and how he's manipulated her into letting him stay even at his worst, how she's worried for her kids.

But mostly he watches Andy.

When Cory asks for the last time if there was anyone else who wanted to share, he felt her eyes boring into the side of his head. He even caught Cory's gaze linger on him, urging the new recruit to say something. But when he looks down, Cory wraps things up. Reminding everyone that the process of healing for everyone involved in addiction is a long and hard one, but that every member of this group is capable.

Sam stands so quickly he feels blood rush straight to his head, but he's dying to stretch his legs and get back out to the cold, fresh air.

He notices it takes Andy a passing moment to rise herself.

When she does, she grabs her grey hoodie from the back of chair, and folds it up in her arms. Sam has the urge to break the ice and say something, but he feels like getting to know her might be a mistake. This isn't really a place for making friends. So he lets her walk by and stays silent.

When she approaches the table though, he remembers his need for a snack for the road, and does approach. Without expectations of any kind. He simply wants a lumpy brownie.

"Want the last one?" She says, while she's turning to face him, offering him the tray.

He steps back a little, trying to avoid running into it, and his eyes widen in surprise, hoping he's not somehow narrating his thoughts.

He smiles and takes it before she can change her mind.

"Thanks." He takes a bite of it quickly, not realizing how hungry he was until it was in his hands. "They're good."

She frowns at the empty dish and shakes her head a bit.

"They came out lumpy." She dismisses his comment, but there's still a trace of a smile on her lips. "I think I missed an instruction, but there's always next week, right?"

Sam is a little taken aback by the not so subtle subtext there. This girl, and truly, a girl - can't be older than sixteen - is encouraging him to try next week. He's said all of three words to her.

And she doesn't seem too worried of scaring him off. Which makes her a little more interesting.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Or maybe a different baked good. Brownies aren't everybody's favourite but-"

"Andy, they're really good. Don't worry about a few lumps." He laughs, cutting off her nervous rambling.

She smiles, pretty pleased with that, and places the dish back down on the table.

"So what's your name?" She asks outright, arms twisting up in her sweater again.

Keeping her hands busy.

He thinks about the names he's used before. Alias' he used when working with some shady people. Names he used when he was wary of people's intentions. Things he used to distance himself from separate realities...

"Sam."

Her smile stretches and she nods.

"Sam." She tests out his name like maybe she'd like to own it, and Sam feels warm from his toes upwards.

Which, maybe makes him feel a bit stupid. But not stupid enough to walk away yet.

"Well Sam, what's your favourite dessert? Maybe next week I'll make that."

"Carrot cake." He replies quickly, face turning serious, testing her. See if she'd really go to that length.

Her nose scrunches as she twists her face up.

"Carrot cake? That's really your favourite? With, like, cream cheese icing?"

"You bet."

"Ew."

"Ew? What do you mean ew, it's delicious."

"Vegetables and dessert don't mix."

She's quite serious and Sam can't hold his resolve much longer. He chuckles, and her arms cross over her chest.

"Says who?"

"Everyone."

"Well, I guess I ruined that statistic huh?"

She shakes her head and smiles again, giggling a bit, but trying to reign it in.

"Okay, Sam who-likes-carrot-cake, next week I'm going to make my world famous cupcakes. If those don't change your mind, then I don't know what will."

He thinks maybe it isn't a good idea, committing to coming next week when he's not too sure at all of this whole thing. He's not too sure about Cory or his words, and he doesn't believe that this is going to change what happened to him growing up.

But he does like Andy, and he likes listening. He's good at listening, never having been much of a talker himself. He likes hearing about parents who want to help their kids, and kids who won't give up on their parents. It's not his reality, but he has hopes for theirs.

And he didn't come looking to make friends. But maybe since he's trying to turn it around, maybe he could use a new friends. One who argued about baked goods and was the type to offer the last bit of dessert.

"Yeah, maybe it will. Nothing's set in stone."

Maybe next week, he'll take his jacket off.


End file.
